Giallo In Venice (1979)

Let’s get it straight: giallo can class it up at times, but at its heart, it’s a scummy and brutal genre. No movie — save perhaps Play Motel or The New York Ripper — is as brazenly profane or messed up as this film. That’s saying something, because this is the kind of genre where the heroine can be totally fine with a man making love to her on broken glass (The Strange Vice of Mrs. Wardh) or absolutely fine with the hero making a joke about having tradesman’s entrance sex with her as a reward (Strip Nude for Your Killer, which predates Kingsman: The Secret Service by oh, three decades or so).

In case you were wondering, this is all brought to you by Mario Landi, who made a sequel to the Australian movie Patrick with Patrick Still Lives, except his movie has extensive sex scenes. Because Italian exploitation, that’s why.

PS: Is it sad — or awesome — that I know that Patrick Still Lives was shot in the same house as Burial Ground?

Oh Leonora Fani. I watch your movies and feel bad for you, like you need protection from the maniacs making your films. Between this movie, Hotel Fear and The House By the Edge of the Lake, one starts to worry for your psyche. Here, she plays one part of a doomed couple — along with Gianni Dei, who played Patrick in the aforementioned Patrick Still Lives — who are killed by a maniac who likes to use scissors on very tender parts of his victim’s anatomy.

Reviewing all of this is a cop with wild hair played by Jeff Blynn, who shows up in Stallone’s Cliffhanger. He’s so hard boiled that he eats hard boiled eggs throughout most of the film’s running time.

Amazingly, Scorpion Releasing restored and re-released this film after they found the legendary uncensored version of this movie hiding in the attic of a Portuguese dental clinic. All copies have been sold out for a while, but man. Movies are weird sometimes.

This isn’t the kind of film that I’d recommend to anyone, however. It has little to no redeeming value, as even its soundtrack is recycled from Interrabang and Burial Ground. For all of the vitriol thrown at The New York Ripper, that movie is positively restrained when compared to this. What do you expect from a movie that outright tells you that it’s a giallo right from its title? There’s nothing subtle at all here.

Man, I feel like Evelyn Quince from Tales of Ribaldry. “Our once bawdy tale is turning into a tawdry tale of pornography! I don’t like it!”

But seriously, this is pretty much the scummiest movie I’ve ever featured on this site and I regularly ingest Joe D’Amoto movies. Watch it at your own peril.

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